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One does not simply clean up this well when heading to a farmer’s market. ” As soon as I express interest in a rare No.9 shoe he did not even know he had, the story changes. The wallet dry spell is common during this first month of the year, coming hot in the heels of an extravagant festive season. Who, except my brothers and sisters from Western Kenya, can drink tea in this heat? I had simply asked him why he felt the need to eat miraa. I offload the goods then stick around the whole day for odd jobs here and there. One of them says, “Ni vile tu nina njaa, ningekuwa nimeruka gate.” The other one warns him against it, and goes on to narrate an incident where a man lost his ring finger while trying to jump over the gate.“Really? The lucky ones would negotiate and bribe their way out before they get to the cursed holding cells. ” A woman places the money into his palm and he goes to the next one. Now a few meters ahead, he notices that someone in his entourage is not with him. Rasta runs back, quite agitated and starts roughing up the woman.

The more well dressed you are, the more you will be charged. The sellers size you up from head to toe then determine the market price. Anyway, it is New Year’s Day; I should be able to buy a stranger a cup of tea.“Aii. Sometimes, these traders give me goods they feel would not be as fresh the following day, at a reduced price of course. On a bad day, I walk home and hope my wife had better luck. When you allow yourself to get to that point, there is no telling what they will charge you with. As they pass by, I see a woman tugging at one of the paper bags.

It is healthier and a welcome reprieve from the beans that always leave me bloated. For a brief second, I notice a man doing I don’t know what. The men at the maize section do not seem too eager to make a sale. Though offering some reprieve, the heat under the iron roofed shelter is almost as unforgiving as the one beyond. I pick one, part the fresh green covers and feel the maize inside. I put the chosen ones next to my right foot and repeat. Unlike other miraa consumers I have come across, he does not have any drink with him. ”I have a feeling I have not heard half of what this man went through. People queue up waiting for buses still stuck in Nairobi’s notorious traffic jams. They are all laid out on both sides of the pavement, making it very hard for pedestrians to navigate through. A group of men, one of them dread-locked, is moving from one hawker to another demanding something. Are they any different from Mungiki and other criminal groups who controlled the transport industry in selected hoods in Nairobi a while back?

I ask a woman wearing an apron in a material strangely similar to my primary school uniform where the maize section is. I ask again and someone points me to a small hill of green maize. That man I saw doing I don’t know what approaches me and offers to help. I watch, a little intrigued as he continues chewing on his Khat. I still have a long way home, so I remain standing. Just then, the gates fly open, and a man standing tall at over 6 feet and wearing a faded brown coat calls out, “Haya, watu waende nyumbani.”Tom Mboya Street is its usual chaotic self. Two of the guys in the group are carrying big polythene bags. Her colleagues just look at her, faces empathetic but mostly helpless. As the man walks past me in a huff, I ask him, “Kwani Kanjo wanafanya job usiku? I can’t shake off that woman’s high pitched cry for help.

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I am here today to buy some fresh green maize for nyoyo, a popular Kenyan dish made by boiling a mixture of maize and beans. Shopping for us #Big Foot Inc, a team I have chaired since I was 10, can get quite frustrating. The seller is probably a Catholic faithful who visited the confession booth this morning and told the priest how sorry he was for taking (read stealing) from his brothers and sisters this past year under the economy dip guise. It is a fusion of fresh onions, rotting tomatoes, sweet overripe mangoes and dampness. Only two seats left at the back of the one that’s waiting. I look around to see what wares the hawkers have today. If rasta and his troupe are not the city council, who are they?

I am trying out mother’s recipe, replacing beans with chick peas. Anyway, I make peace with the fact that today, I fall victim to that misguided formula. The priest, after listening patiently had assured him that his sins had been forgiven. A light breeze throws my rosy perfume into the mix. There are fruits, clothes, shoes, toys, among other things. Thugs terrorizing and milking people of their hard earned 50 shillings?

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